Grievances
by Xx Girl With Issues xX
Summary: Dave encounters past demons on a holiday visit home to his family. (One shot).


Title:  ****

Title: Grievances 

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Author: Girl with Issues

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E-Mail: [Buffy38841@aol.com][1] or AngieMcKendrick@aol.com

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Rating: PG-13 

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Disclaimer: I don't own Dave (as much as I pretend I do…), or anything else ER-related.

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Timeline: After "Rampage."

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Summary: Dave encounters past demons on a holiday trip home with his family.

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Author's Notes: Hey guys, this is just a short, one-shot fic I came up with a little while ago. Just my mind messing with ideas; hope ya like. Reviews loved.

*~*

The ambulance bay doors parted, and through them came the snow-covered form of Dr. Dave Malucci. In general, Dave liked snow. It was nice, white, and clean. Dave just wondered why Chicago always had to have so damn much. Mid-fall to late spring---snow! Lots of it. Not bunches of fun for a guy who rode a bike to work daily.

After bushing flakes of snow and rapidly melting ice chips from his jacket, Dave hung it in his locker and left the lounge to work.

*~*

Much later that day, near the end of his shift, Dave wandered behind the desk to pick up a final case for the day. "Hey you," Frank, the ex-cop desk clerk, caught Dave's attention, "A woman claiming to be your mother called. Do you know anyone by the name of Isabel Malucci?" Frank eyed the resident suspiciously.

Dave rolled his eyes, "Yeah that's my mom. What'd she want?" Frank handed him a piece of paper, "Wants you to visit for Christmas dinner. Said you promised."

Inwardly, Dave groaned. True, he _had_ promised. It wasn't like he hated his mother; he didn't even dislike her. His father on the other hand…

It wouldn't kill him. Probably.

If he talked to the Chief today, Dave reasoned, he'd probably get the next day (Christmas Eve) off for traveling to New York, Christmas itself off for the dinner, then the day after off for coming back to Chicago. 3 days. Wasn't like he had better plans. Or any other plans for that matter.

*~*

The next day, Dave was (attempting) to drive down a crowded NYC street in a rental car. The Chief was pretty cool about letting him off. Holiday spirit, he guessed.

At a stoplight, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the fancy, decorated box sitting in the backseat. It was a present for his mother-a sweater and a book on making pastries. If he'd felt self-conscious buying a woman's sweater, it was nothing compared to the looks he got while standing in the "Gourmet Cooking" section of the local bookstore. Whatever. He knew his mom would love it.

His father presented a problem. Dave didn't really want to get him anything, and while he doubted that his father would take up his old hobby of smacking Dave around, he didn't want to upset his mother. Dave had finally settled on a Chicago Cub's cap…fathers liked baseball, right?

*~*

Dave rang the apartment's doorbell, excited to see his mother and nervous about seeing his father. He couldn't dwell on these thoughts for too long however, for Isabel answered the door. "Davie! You came!" Dave was almost crushed as his mother swooped upon him, giving him a huge hug and peck on the cheek. _Damn, _Dave thought, _For a little old Italian lady, she's pretty strong…_

After releasing Dave, Isabel led her son into the apartment. Dave could see a large, decorated Christmas tree in the other room, and smell various foods being cooked.

Gently, Isabel pushed her son towards the other room, "Go see your father Davie, dinner will be ready soon." Trying to stall for time, Dave took out the wrapped gifts for his mother. "Oh! David, you shouldn't have," Isabel gushed. She could see that Dave was slightly embarrassed, but she hadn't seen or heard from her son in a couple years, save for the occasional letter or phone call.

"David." At the sound of another familiar voice, Dave turned to face his father, Michael Malucci. Michael was standing in the door of the room with the tree, a newspaper in one hand, pipe in the other. With his worn cardigan sweater, gray hair, and thin spectacles, Michael looked more like a kind grandfather than a child abuser. At least this was Dave's impression.

Awkwardly, Dave held out the baseball cap, "Here, I ran out of wrapping paper." The truth was, Dave didn't even want to bother. Michael turned the cap around in his hands a few times, wondering what to say. Finally, he settled on a gruff, "Thank you, David. How thoughtful."

Seeing the tension between her son and her husband, Isabel spoke up, "Michael, while Dave helps me finish the dinner, why don't you continue reading your paper?"

Michael nodded, and wordlessly, walked back into the den.

*~*

Dave spent the next hour in the kitchen with his mother. He wasn't a cook, and his mother knew that, but she also knew how uncomfortable Dave was around Michael. Isabel knew how Michael had hurt Dave, for Michael had hurt her the same way. People had called her foolish for staying with him, but she had and eventually, he apologized and the marriage had slowly healed. Michael was a much different man now; but to Dave he was the same person.

While Dave was with Isabel in the kitchen, the two caught up on each other's lives. Dave never knew how proud Isabel was when he said he wanted to be a doctor. Even though Dave was only accepted into Grenada, Isabel was happy with her only child's decision.

In the den, Michael had given up on reading, and had listened to his wife and son converse.

*~*

At first, the dinner was strained. Dave wasn't really even looking his father in the eye, and tried to only speak with Isabel. Michael talked to Isabel and directed a few questions at Dave, which were mostly ignored. Finally, Isabel had stepped in and kept up a semi-normal banter with both men.

After Isabel had set the dessert on the table, Michael caught her eye and nodded. Dave wondered what was up, and looked at his mother. "Dave," Isabel said gently, "Your father and I have something to tell you," Dave started to protest; he didn't want to listen to anything Michael had to say. 

"Just hear us out son," Michael asked. Dave sat back and looked between his two parents, impatiently waiting for them to speak. _The dinner has been going fine until now_, Dave thought. 

Isabel reached across the table and took Michael's hand, "A few weeks ago Dave, your father went to his doctor for a check-up," Michael added, "I hadn't been feeling myself lately, you know?" _Didn't feel like slapping your family around? _Dave thought viciously. 

Michael continued, "They did some tests," Growing impatient, Dave cut in, "Did they find anything?" Isabel nodded sadly, "They did, Dave."

Michael said, quietly, "I have cancer in my lungs. It's terminal." 

*~*

Dave felt as he'd been socked in the stomach. He was surprised at how much this news affected him. How many times during his childhood had he wised that his father would get hit by a car, get a disease, anything that would kill him, and keep him from hurting Dave.

Mentally shaking himself, Dave kept his voice calm, "How long does he have?" He deliberately directed the question at his mother, but it was Michael who answered, "They don't know for sure, could be months, could be weeks, could even be days." Michael put in the last few words to see if they had any effect on Dave; they weren't true, the doctors had given him at least a good 4 months. But Dave simply blinked, nodded, then turned to Isabel, "Can I be excused?"

Sadly, Isabel nodded, and looked at her husband. Michael's gaze matched his wife's, but he just shrugged as Dave stood and walked into the den.

*~*

Later that night, Michael Malucci walked into the family's den. Dave was sitting on the couch staring at the Christmas tree, with its twinkling lights, a faraway look in his eyes. In his hands, Dave held a family picture that was taken when Dave was still just a little baby. His mother was holding him, and his father had his arms around the two; all three looked like the perfect picture of contentment. 

Hearing his father enter, Dave started and quickly put the picture on the side table. Feigning a yawn, he stood and began to leave. "Davie," Michael said. 

All the anger, stress, and pain had build up inside of Dave all day, and exploded in that minute, "Don't ever call me that. That's my mother's name for me, and you have no right to address me like that."

Instead of yelling back, Michael sighed and sat down in an armchair. Dave was surprised. He had expected an arm to come across his face, for old time's sake. Michael's actions seemed to calm Dave though, and he muttered an apology. Michael waved it aside, "I should be apologizing to you, Dave. I know what I did to you and your mother. At the time, I didn't care; dammit, I was too drunk to care. But now, I'm sober, and I'm so sorry. I've changed, Dave. Your mother and I are happier than when we first got married."

Dave remained quiet, leaning against the doorframe, listening. Michael continued, "It took her a long time to forgive me though; I'm not even sure if she's completely forgiven me. I hope you will though, Dave. I got help, I've changed, and I'm sorry. Will you ever forgive me?"

Dave watched his father a minute more before speaking, "I'm staying the night, then taking an early flight back to Chicago. I gotta go to sleep now." With that said, Dave turned and left.

Michael listened to his son's footsteps on the stairs until Dave was at the top.

*~*

Early the next morning, his mother shaking him awaked Dave. Through bleary eyes, Dave saw the bedside clock. He could still sleep for on hour before having to get up for his plane. But Isabel yanked the sheets away. Dave sat up, "What Mom?"

He had his eyes closed and was rubbing the sleep from them when he heard sniffling. Dave opened his eyes to see his mother sitting on the edge of the bed crying, "Mom!? What happened? Did he do something you?"

Isabel shook her head, and composed herself, "Dave, I woke up this morning, wanting to make you a Christmas morning breakfast like when you were little. And your father…" Isabel started crying again.

"What about Dad?" Dave forgot about addressing his father by his first name at the moment; his mother was freaking him out.

Isabel started again, "Dave, your father died. No, it wasn't the cancer, it was a heart attack. I think he died in his sleep."

At this point, Isabel started to cry again. Shocked, Dave took his mother into his arms and held her until he could find what to say, "Why don't you wash your face and make a cup of tea?"

"I have to call the coroner and the church, start making arrangements…" Dave calmed her, "Ok, it's ok, Mom. Let me get dressed, then I'll make the calls. Just go downstairs and make some tea, ok?" Through tears, Isabel nodded.

Slowly, she stood and made her way downstairs. Dave watched her go, then sat on the bed, his mind spinning.

As he stood to get dressed, Dave glanced at the window. Walking over, he noticed the snow falling slowly from the sky, gently dropping onto the ground.

It was so quiet, he noticed. The quiet broke when Dave spoke, aloud, yet to himself, "I forgive you Dad."

Silence resumed as Dave put his forehead against the glass and let the tears flow. 

The snow continued to fall.

*~*

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A/N: All done. One shot, so don't expect anymore chapters. I DO have the 8th and FINAL chapter of "In the End" in the works though, so look for that. Then look for the SEQUEL to "In the End." Reviews craved! 

   [1]: mailto:Buffy38841@aol.com



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